


when you look at me (and the whole world fades)

by fromiftowhen



Series: like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do [3]
Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: A Probably Gross Amount of Smiling, Celebrations, Developing Relationship, Dogs, F/M, Flirting, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection, Secret Relationship, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen
Summary: She laughs, pressing her lips against his chest, muffling the sound. “Did you take that picture hoping I’d stare at it for way too long, that I’d wish I was there?”He rolls his eyes. “I guess in the loosest sense of the definition, that’s what it was. Why?” His hand skates up and down her back.“Well, I did. Stare and wish I was there.Here,”she says, drawing little nothing shapes with her nail against his chest.He presses a kiss to her temple, and she smiles. “You are now,” he whispers, and it feels full of promise, like a sunrise, or a cresting wave, or kisses in the dark.OR -- Tim and Lucy celebrate the end of training, with their friends and with just each other. And they keep the most important secrets for themselves.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Series: like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686964
Comments: 22
Kudos: 203





	when you look at me (and the whole world fades)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I'm sorry this took forever. I hope 18K makes up for the wait. This honestly, truly, got away from me. It's officially the longest fic I've ever shared. 
> 
> Title from Always Remember Us This Way by Lady Gaga. 
> 
> Immediately follows [i'll find it at my own pace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192656) and [just let me adore you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450587) Will make more sense to read those first (or refresh, since it's been awhile.) 
> 
> If I've whined or yelled at you about this fic, I am _super_ excited for you to read it (and for it to be done, not going to lie.)
> 
> I’m fromiftowhen on Tumblr. Let’s be friends!

“Please don’t be home yet, _please_ don’t be home yet,” Lucy mutters to herself as she pulls into her complex’s parking garage. 

The drive home from Tim’s felt about twice as long as it should have, and she doesn’t know if that’s because _leaving_ Tim’s had felt about twice as hard as it should have, or if her need to beat Jackson home was that intense. 

Jackson’s parking spot next to hers is empty as she pulls in, and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

Keeping this… _thing_ with Tim a secret is sort of already stressing her out, even if it _was_ her idea. The idea of not being able to spill all the fun, inappropriate details to Jackson feels way different than when she and Nolan kept their relationship a secret. That had been easy, and sure, she hadn’t been living with Jackson then, but the desire to talk about Nolan or _think_ about him or _touch_ him every second hadn’t made her anxious enough to almost run two reds on her way home, either. 

She pulls her phone out in the elevator on the way to their floor and smiles. Tim had text her just a couple minutes after she left his driveway. 

_Get home safe._

Her smile rackets up a notch as she replies. _Managed to beat Jackson home_. 

_And that’s why I never let you drive the shop,_ pops up right away, and she laughs, heading down the hallway to her apartment. 

She lets herself in and sets down her stuff, smiling down at her phone. _I’m a great driver,_ she sends back. 

She’s in her bedroom changing when Jackson gets home a couple minutes later. 

“Lucy, sushi time!” He yells, and she walks out of her room to find him looking at her stuff on the counter. The push knife from Tim is by her purse, and she watches him pick it up and turn it over in his hands. 

“This is _really_ nice, where’d you get it?”

She considers lying, for half a second. But she thinks about the things she’s already decided she’s not ready to share, all the things she’d normally run right to her best friend with, all the dirty details she’d spill, normally. 

“It’s from Tim. My end of training gift. It’s nice, right?” 

“For sure. Bradford got you an end of training gift?” He asks, setting the knife down. He’s looking at her closely, like he’s searching for something. 

“Yeah, didn’t Angela get you something?” She doesn’t correct him, even though Tim _definitely_ gave her more than one gift, each better than the last. 

He shakes his head. “No. I think it’s a TO tradition thing, Tim’s probably did the same thing, hers probably didn’t.” 

“Angela’s gift was probably letting you pass,” she teases, laughing when he frowns at her. 

“Excuse me, rude. Oh, before I forget, I’ve got a shirt to return to the mall, wanna go with me after lunch?”

She nods. “Retail therapy sounds _amazing_ right now, actually. I deserve a nice outfit. Let me put my shoes on and I’m ready.” 

“Cool. Treat yo’self, Lucy Chen,” he calls, heading for his room. “Hey, so how’s Tim? Is Kojo settled in? For some reason I imagine a lot of leather and manly men things in his house, like signed jerseys on the wall and… antique weapons or something.”

“Kojo is so good, he just lays around and snuggles. And his place is actually really nice. I mean, definitely his ex-wife decorated it, but it’s homey and clean and his bedroom has a fireplace,” she rambles, pulling her boots on. Jackson doesn’t respond, and she looks up to find him holding a bag and staring at her. 

“What?” She asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“His _bedroom_ has a fireplace? And you know this why?”

She stops moving, maybe breathing. She wishes he wasn’t staring at her, she wishes she didn’t live with a cop. 

She laughs, shaking herself out of it. _“Please,_ like you wouldn’t snoop if you went to Angela’s. Plus, Rachel might have mentioned it, and I had to see for myself.” Rachel hadn’t mentioned it ever, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

He nods slowly. “Okay.” He reaches for his keys on the counter, and she grabs her phone from her room, smiling down at a text from Tim as she walks back out. _Just be glad I wasn’t your driving instructor in the academy. Got plans after the bar tonight?_

“Hey, Lucy. You never answered my first question. How’s Tim?”

And maybe she’s just distracted enough, maybe he’s that good a cop. Maybe he knows her too well. Maybe it’s the silly smile on her face from Tim’s text that makes her voice go all soft. 

“Tim’s good.” It’s all she says. Two words, but it’s enough for Jackson to toss his keys back on the counter and point at her. 

“You slept with him,” he basically yells, mock-accusatory. 

“I did _not,”_ she stutters out, and thank god she only ever plans to be on one side of the table in the interrogation room, because she gives up the ghost as soon as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

_“Tim’s good,’”_ he mimics, in his best Lucy voice. It’s pretty convincing. 

“Ugh, fine! Maybe I did, but last night was the first time. And you can’t tell _anyone,_ not Nolan, definitely not Lopez. Not even Sterling. This goes in the Lucy and Jackson vault. I’m not ready for the department to judge me and assume that I got through training because I slept my way to a pass, and I don’t want it messing up anything for Tim’s sergeant position.” 

He smiles, and he really is her best friend. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Luce. You know that. And I know you didn’t sleep your way to a pass. And honestly, so will anyone whose opinion would matter. You gave in _way_ too fast when I probed though, you gotta work on that.”

“I _know,”_ she whines. “But how did you know?”

He smiles and points to her purse and keys on the counter. “You don’t leave stuff on the counter unless you’ve just walked in. And your clothes from yesterday are on your bed, which means you just changed out of them, not your pajamas. Plus you kind of smell like men’s body wash, and specifically like the body wash I know Tim uses in the locker room.” He looks at her like he’s just solved a case by catching a suspect red handed. 

“I _knew_ I should have showered again, but his body wash just smells _so good.”_

“Plus, and this is the biggest one — you look _happy,_ and I knew you were going to Tim’s last night. And come on, it’s _you and Tim._ It was gonna happen.”

She blinks. “I— I think you might be a better cop than I am,” she mutters. 

“Duh, obviously. But I _really_ am, if you’re just now figuring that out,” he grins. He picks his keys up again. “Ready? We apparently have a _lot_ to discuss now at lunch, and I’m hungry AF.”

“Me too. Hang on one sec, and I’m ready.” She opens her texts and smiles at Tim’s last message again before she types out a response. _I might be free. Why? Want me to pencil you and Kojo in? 😉_

“Let’s go,” she says, pocketing her phone and grabbing her purse. Jackson opens the door and pauses, turning back to her. 

“So, Luce. _How’s Tim?”_ His tone of voice tells her he’s not asking out of concern for Tim’s well-being. They’re starting the lunch gossip hour early, apparently. 

She laughs, near giddy. “Oh my _god,_ he’s _sooo good?_ I’m a _little obsessed,”_ she blurts. “He does this thing with his tongue and I swear—“

“Nope!” Jackson yells as she follows him out the door. 

She grins. So, that hadn’t gone remotely how she planned. She should have figured, honestly. Thank god for Jackson, though. If she can manage to keep it together, she knows the secret is safe with him. 

—————

The bar is loud when she, Jackson, and Sterling walk in. It’s an out of the way place, not their usual cop bar, and Lucy’s happy for the change of pace. The fewer cops who see her and Tim together, the better. Sterling’s less likely to be recognized here too, which she knows puts Jackson at ease. 

Tim’s not here yet, and she’s glad for the moment to settle in, to maybe have a shot at controlling her reaction to seeing him for the first time since this morning. Jackson read her _so_ fast, and he knows her better than maybe anyone, but she’s about to be surrounded by cops. 

Before she can even put her purse down in the booth in the dim back room, Abigail is running over to hug her, offering her congratulations. 

“Thanks!” Her hands are cold on Lucy’s bare back, and Abigail pulls back with a grin, taking a quick walk around her before stopping. 

“Um, you look stupid hot,” she says, and Lucy laughs. 

“Anything to get out of that uniform,” she says. 

Nolan and Henry walk up then, and Lucy’s distracted greeting them. They head off to the bar and Abigail glances behind Lucy and grins, almost conspiratorially. 

“Don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure Officer All-Bark is checking you out. Is that a thing? I mean, I can see it. He’s so tall and handsome as hell, not to quote T. Swift, but it applies. I won’t tell a soul, just blink twice if I’m right.” 

Lucy laughs, but absolutely does not blink at all, even though she does agree that he’s so tall and handsome as hell. She turns around at the sound of a throat clearing and has to center herself quickly. 

“Abigail. Officer Chen.” His hands are in his pockets, and if it wasn’t something she found ridiculously charming every time he did it, she’d assume it was to help avoid reaching out to touch her, because she’s cursing a pocketless dress at the moment. 

“Tim,” she says, and she tries so, so hard to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes catch on his collar. The top few buttons of his henley are left undone, and she has to bite her lip to keep from grinning. The man applies feedback extremely well. 

“Officer All-Bark,” Abigail sasses, glancing between the two of them. “We were just discussing how stupid hot Lucy looks. Please debate. Peace,” she says, walking away as Tim rolls his eyes. 

He steps closer to her though, as soon as their audience is gone, just like he does anytime he’s about to admit anything remotely vulnerable to just her. It’s a tell she’s started to brace herself for. 

“Doesn’t seem open for debate,” he says, his voice low enough it sends sparks straight through her immediately. Maybe it’s a year of 12 hour days with his voice as her main soundtrack, maybe it’s 24 hours of knowing what he sounds like as he falls apart, but the timbre of his voice is just another in the long list of things he’s done today that have set her aflame. 

“I probably wouldn’t have phrased it like a 20-year-old girl, though,” he admits. He leans in, so his lips are a respectful distance from her ear for any on-lookers, but close enough that the words still tickle her skin. “I’d have gone with sexy, personally.”

She tries not to blush, but his praise hits her harder than she expected. She knows the dress is good, though. It was her Treat Yo’self present at the mall. Shorter than she’d normally buy, and dark teal, the front of the dress feels pretty nondescript. The back was the selling point, and clearly the part that had first captured Tim’s attention, though. It plunges, leaving no room for a bra, which had initially worried her. But then she’d turned in the dressing room mirror, muscles shifting, ones she’d worked long hours for in the gym, some side-by-side with Tim, push-ups and weights and hours against the heavy bag. And she’d immediately felt strong and powerful and yes, maybe a little sexy, and she’d known she deserved it and any lingering looks it might provoke. 

“Thanks, Officer All-Bark,” she teases, and his eye roll is worth it. 

“Absolutely not.” He tries to glare at her, but the edges of his lips creep into a smile instead, like he’s barely aware it’s happening. “C’mon,” he says, nodding over his shoulder to the bar. “Let’s get you and that dress a drink.”

—————

“That looks horrifying,” he says, and she lets her fingers brush his as she takes the glass. 

“It’s a Clover Club, and it’s delicious,” she tells him, stirring the raspberry garnish around the drink slowly, watching him take a long pull from his beer bottle. His lips are wet when he pulls the bottle away, and she stares until he smirks at her. 

“See something you like?” It should be illegal for his voice to have such a flirty edge at all, let alone in public. 

She shrugs, like the only thought racing through her mind isn’t yelling at her to kiss the beer sheen from his lips right this second, public setting be damned. “Maybe.”

She takes a sip of her drink, the tart, sweet pink liquid cool against her tongue. He’s watching her when she looks back up, and she holds the glass out to him. “Wanna sip?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe later,” he says, but the look he gives her tells her it might be just in service of a kiss, and not from any real desire to taste the drink. “Didn’t really picture you as a pink cocktail girl.”

“If you put fruit in a drink, I will drink it and I will like it. But I wouldn’t really call myself a pink cocktail girl. Sometimes you just want a hot guy to buy you a tasty drink.”

He’s probably about to smirk at her, but Jackson’s voice distracts them. 

“I know that’s true, and that’s why I sent Sterling to the bar,” he says, coming to a stop by Lucy. “Ooh, a clover club? Is it good?”

“Tim thinks it’s too pink, but he’s wrong. Here.” She holds the glass out to him and he takes a sip, his eyes lighting up immediately. 

“Lopez is supposed to get your first round,” Tim tells him, and Lucy laughs as Jackson shrugs. 

“The girl is late, Tim, and I need to drink. It has been a _day,_ and I need to erase some mental images. There will be plenty of rounds for her to make good,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to where Sterling is holding up his drink. “That’s my cue.” He walks away, and Lucy watches Tim stare after him. 

“He started the morning with Sterling’s $1500 espresso machine, he’s usually a little hopped up all day,” she says, by way of explanation, although she knows that has very little to do with it. 

“I don’t think he’s ever called me Tim before. I thought I intimidated him.” He sounds disappointed, almost, and Lucy laughs. 

“Just like my requirement to follow your orders, I think his Tim fear ended as of midnight last night, but don’t worry, we’ll find you a new rookie to intimidate, buddy.” She doesn’t mention that Jackson’s Tim fear probably ended closer to 15 minutes into her retelling of last night’s (and this morning’s) events than precisely at midnight last night. She’d kept a lot of the details to herself — him kissing her by the car and trailing his fingers up and down her legs on the couch had felt too intimate to share with anyone, even Jackson, but he officially knew a lot more about Tim Bradford than he may have started out the day wanting to. 

“I’d rather you still follow my orders, if I had to pick just one,” he says, and her laugh is immediate. 

“Oh, keep dreaming, bud.” 

His wink is sexy, just like the low chuckle that earns her. _“Oh,_ no worries there.”

She’s pretty sure she could lean against this crowded bar and stare at him for hours, just living in the way he watches her, but a blur of dark hair approaching pulls her focus. 

Angela and Wesley smile as they approach, Harper not far behind, and their presence pulls the rest of the group together, and Lucy feels happy and free and _loved._

—————

Those feelings carry her through the rest of her cocktail and two rounds of shots for the graduating rookies, through an impromptu karaoke session with Jackson and Nolan, and through Angela cornering her and Tim at the bar, right after Lucy’s knocked back her second shot. Tim’s nursing his second beer, and she can’t count how many times his fingers around the neck of the bottle have distracted her. Lucy stirs the raspberry garnish around her new Clover Club and smiles at Angela. 

“Aren’t you two sick of each other by now? I barely want to look at Jackson. Thirteen months of just one face all day is really too much,” she says, and behind them, Lucy hears the distinct sound of Jackson objecting loudly. Next to her, Wesley raises his eyebrows. 

“And, my future wife. Thanks, babe,” he says, laughing. Lucy watches Angela smack a kiss to his cheek and smiles, letting her eyes drift to watch Tim take in the exchange. He’s already watching her, though, and just like a million times before, his gaze makes her feel brave. 

“I’m more fun to look at than Jackson,” she says, her eyes not leaving Tim’s. She can feel Angela watching them, knows that she misses nothing, even if she’s a little tipsy. 

Tim just smirks, damn his ability to play it close to the vest. Angela narrows her eyes at him, and Lucy knows where Jackson got his skills from. It’s intimidating, but Tim doesn’t bend. 

_“Anyway,”_ Wesley says, and thank god. “Congratulations, Lucy. I know you all worked hard this last year, but I think you especially deserve a fun night out.”

Lucy smiles, reaching out to give him a quick hug. She doesn’t know Angela as well as Jackson does, but maybe that can change. “Thanks, Wesley.”

Tim’s watching her with a soft, easy smile when she looks back over at him, and it’s almost too much. 

“We’re gonna sit, you two coming?” Angela asks, and Lucy doesn’t miss how she’s still sizing Tim up. 

Lucy nods. “Yeah, in a few. I’m gonna finish my drink and grab another before I get blocked in at the table.”

Angela turns to Tim, but it’s like she already knows his answer, because she just narrows her eyes at him a little, considering, and then shakes her head and follows Wesley over to their table in the back. 

“For the record,” he says, and there’s that flirty lean in again, the one that has already proven to get her in trouble, “you _are_ more fun to look at than Jackson, which I hope goes without saying.”

“Just to _look_ at?” It’s impossible to not flirt with him, she isn’t even sorry. She pulls a raspberry off the cocktail stirrer and pops it in her mouth, watching him zero in on her lips. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re trouble?” His voice is rough, low, and something inside her unspools at the sound. Maybe it’s the drinks. Maybe it’s the loud, dark bar and the new, sexy dress. Maybe it’s the culmination of everything she’s worked for, everything she’s gone through this last year. 

Maybe it’s all those things, too, but it’s definitely _him._

“Only good trouble.” She smiles, and it must throw him off his game, because he laughs as a smile spreads across his face. It’s hypnotizing. 

She tosses back the rest of her drink, probably too quickly. The liquid is cold on the way down, but she has more pressing matters. She sets the empty glass on the bar and brushes her fingers against his as she pulls her hand back. “I’m going to use the ladies room. Watch my drink?”

He glances at the empty glass, at her flushed cheeks, but to his credit doesn’t call her on it. He nods. She smiles at him, slow and as casual as she can, before she turns. 

When she glances back over her shoulder a few steps away, it’s in time to watch him throw back the rest of his beer, his eyes on her the whole time. 

—————

She stands in the hallway off the bathroom corridor and runs her hands, cold from the cocktail glass, down the skirt of her dress. She starts a count to 100 and makes it to 42 before all too familiar footsteps grab her attention. She watches him glance down the hallway by the bathroom, but she’s far enough down the side hallway and it’s dark enough that she feels pretty well hidden. 

“I thought you were supposed to be watching my drink,” she says, and his head turns in her direction. She bites her lip as he walks closer, the long line of his body tempting every one of her senses. 

“It’s the damnedest thing. This gorgeous woman left an empty glass in front of me, and when the bartender took it away, I had nothing to watch anymore, and somehow I ended up here. A real mystery.”

“You should probably call one of your detective friends to help solve that mystery. Could be a real ongoing thing, some gorgeous woman luring you to dark hallways.” 

“Doesn’t need to be solved,” he says, stopping in front of her. She grins. She thinks he’ll move into her space, but he moves back against the opposite wall. 

“You gonna let me take you home?” He asks, his hands in his pockets. 

“Maybe.” She leans back against the wall, lets her eyes roam freely over his broad shoulders, the cute way they naturally shrug with his hands in his pockets. In the dark of the hallway, she can just make him out, but it doesn’t matter — it feels like she’s got him committed to memory already. 

_“Maybe?”_ He laughs, shaking his head as though he’s in disbelief. His laugh is low and sexy in the small space, and her resolve is only so strong. 

She’s a little more buzzed than she realized, and she’s aware anyone could turn down the hallway at any point, but that makes it fun. She steps forward into his space, close enough to see his eyes flick down to her lips and linger there. “Probably,” she teases. “Why? Does Kojo miss me?”

“Mhmm. He thought about you all day.”

“Sweet boy,” she whispers. She lets her lips glance over his cheek, the barest of touches before she takes a step back. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is needy, wanting, like that one pass of her lips took all the willpower he had, like he’d just been about to fall head first into her. He circles her wrist with his hand, pulling her back in. It’s gentle, and she could resist if she wanted to even the tiniest bit. 

“Nowhere, apparently,” she whispers, already closing her eyes in anticipation. 

“Damn straight,” he murmurs, biting a kiss against her jaw. _Finally._ She pulls the hand still circling her wrist around her waist, only letting go when his hand spans her back, his fingers warm against her as they trail up the exposed skin. She runs her hand up his arm, leaning into him. His lips are barely skimming her jaw, and she tilts her head to get them closer, but he still teases her. 

She whines, pressing her body closer to him. “Tim,” she whispers, and she smiles when he nuzzles his face against her neck. It’s not what she needs, and it’s less than she wants, but it’s distractingly perfect and sweet in a way she’s still learning to recognize as _Tim._

“Hmm?” He murmurs, and she can feel his smile against her heated skin. 

She runs her hands further up his arms, across to the lapels of his jacket. She presses so his body pushes back against the wall and he’s forced to pull back from her just slightly. She smiles as soon as she can see his face, so he knows they’re good. _“Tim,”_ she says again. She watches his eyes spark with recognition, maybe she sounds exactly as needy as she had earlier this morning in the shower. _Good._ “So you meet me in this dark hallway, but you’re still not making out with me?” 

His lips quirk into a smile, and she thinks he’s going to lean in, but he just watches her for a moment. “I’m _sorry,_ ” he laughs. “Here I thought you just wanted to catch up, check in on my boring day.”

She scoffs, pressing her palms harder against his chest. “I’m _sorry,”_ she mimics. “Your _boring_ day? Should I just leave?”

His fingers flex against her skin and his hand slides further up her back, tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Maybe the morning wasn’t boring,” he amends, massaging his thumb over the back of her neck. 

_“Maybe?”_ she echos back to him, and the warm rush of air against her skin as he laughs is heady and too tempting to ignore. His lips ghost over her neck again, but she pulls back, even though it goes against all of her base impulses. 

“Tim, did you have a good time last night?” His eyes narrow a little, sizing her up, getting a read. He nods, running his thumb across her skin again. 

“Yeah? You had fun, naked and wet in the shower with me this morning?” 

His cheeks flush and his eyes flare, clearly replaying. His voice is jagged, like he’s barely holding back. “You know I did.”

“Yeah? Do you like my dress?” 

His hand runs down the exposed skin again, his nails dragging gently. It’s the sweetest turn on. “Can’t take my eyes off it.” 

She smiles, closing her eyes for just a fraction of a second to let his words wash over her. When she opens them, he’s watching her, waiting. 

“Good. Then _kiss me,_ Tim.” 

He licks his lips and she’s pretty sure her stomach somersaults from desire. “That’s what you want?” He asks, one hand gripping her hip, bunching the fabric of her dress, the other cupping the back of her neck, his long fingers curling up through her hair. 

“It’s a start,” she whispers, glancing down the long hallway that leads back to the main bar area. It’s quiet still, but she knows it’s only a matter of time. 

“Gotta start somewhere.” He pushes off the wall slightly and she backs up automatically, his hand pressing her hip back, back, two, three quick steps, before her body is hitting the opposite wall again. His hand on her neck cradles her head, and she has just enough time to let out a shuddery breath of anticipation before his lips are on hers. 

It’s _exactly_ what she wanted, and she smiles into the kiss, triumphant. She stands on her tiptoes to better meet his lips, but the buzzy, almost drunk feeling sends her swaying slightly. She fists her hands in his lapels and pulls him closer, so she’s steady and stable between his tall frame and the wall. 

She sighs against his lips and she feels that slow smile quirk across his face. He bites at her bottom lip and she lets one of her hands push under his jacket, around to his back, to rake her nails down the fabric of his henley. 

_“Lucy.”_ Not Boot. Not Chen. Her name on his lips could send her swaying again if she wasn’t so deliciously pressed against his body. “You’re coming home with me, right?”

His thumb brushes the underside of her breast, the fabric of her dress doing nothing to hide the heat of his skin. 

Well, if she wasn’t going home with him before, she absolutely is now. Like he even has to ask. Like he could keep her away. 

“Right now?” She asks, maybe a little eager, her lips sliding over the stubble on his jaw. 

He laughs, his thumb shifts higher, and she startles, a shiver running through her when he brushes over her nipple, the sensation pebbling the sensitive skin. “Not _right_ now, we still have to go finish celebrating you surviving thirteen months of me.”

She might not survive thirteen more seconds of this, if he keeps teasing her. “That _does_ deserve celebration, barely made it,” she says, curling her fingers around the fabric of his lapels like they’re the only thing holding her together. 

“Rude,” he whispers, and she gasps shallowly as he shifts to press his lips to her neck. His tongue runs over the same spot he’d spent ten whole minutes tasting last night, the covers building a world for just the two of them in his bed, his body warm and strong over hers. It had made her moan then, breathy and low in his ear, arching and digging her nails into his skin, and clearly, judging by the way his laugh heats her skin now, he’d committed that experience to memory just as well as she had. 

“But I guess this is our own version of celebrating,” he says, the words vibrating against the sensitive skin of her throat. 

“We are _excellent_ celebrators,” she whispers, running one hand up the side of his neck to guide his mouth to hers again. He kisses her slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world, like they aren’t hiding out in a dark hallway keeping secrets. She presses her thumb to the corner of his mouth, slips her tongue in when he opens slightly and swallows his surprised little groan. They kiss for a long minute, her hand in his hair, nails scratching over his scalp, and she’s pretty sure he could be putty in her hands if she tried just a fraction harder. 

A crash from the bar area pulls his lips from hers, and she burrows her forehead against his chest, presses her lips against the exposed skin from his unbuttoned henley, not wanting him to go far, not wanting him to go at all. 

“Sounds like someone dropped a few glasses,” he says, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You okay?”

_So sweet._ “Mhmm,” she mutters, dragging her lips back up his chin to press against his. He kisses her back, still so new and just slightly different enough every time that she feels off her axis. It’s him and the cocktails and the shots and the dark hallway keeping their secrets, all spinning her out. 

He pulls back slightly, and she doesn’t whine, she _doesn’t._ “We should probably go join our group before someone starts looking, we both kind of disappeared.” His words are quiet, the same edge she recognizes from prying info out of him that he doesn’t really want to share — he’s not happy to hear the words leave his mouth either. 

“Yeah, but your truck is like, _right there.”_ She points off in the vague distance, not at all sure where his truck is. But it’s closer than his bed and more private than this hallway, and not near their friends. She doesn’t want to leave their newest little bubble yet. 

He smiles, that killer grin that means he’s half a second from laughing at her. It’s one of her favorites, like every other smile he’s ever shared with her. He guides her finger in a more precise location of his truck, and then laces their fingers together, bringing their hands down to his side. “I know exactly where my truck is, Lucy.” He shifts, moving so his body is pressed against hers fully from chest to thigh. She shivers as his hips press against her. “And if I thought getting you in my truck for ten, twenty minutes would be remotely enough time for how thoroughly I want to make you fall apart, we’d already be out there.”

She groans, needy and frustrated, _wanting,_ mostly from everything he’s implying, but also at the way his hips are still shifting ever so slowly against her body. She presses her forehead against the warm, bare skin at his neck and tries to disappear in him. 

And now he does laugh, low and sweet against her ear. “God, you have no idea what you do to me, Lucy.” His fingers are restlessly playing with hers, sliding and intertwining and soothing her in the most innocent, carefree way, in total contradiction to exactly how his words are riling her up. 

She pulls back, lets her head fall back against the wall so she can look up at him. “Probably exactly what you do to me,” she whispers, reaching down to intertwine the fingers of their free hands together, joined on both sides. He smiles, that rare, full, _gorgeous_ Tim smile, and her chest tightens just from joy alone. 

“Hopefully,” he says, and he sounds so hopeful she feels it swell in her own body, pooling deep inside her. She watches him glance down at their hands, feels him start to pull away, but she tightens her grip and he glances up at her. 

“One more? Just to get me through? It’s gonna be _forever_ until I can kiss you again.” 

His pupils dilate, as if of everything they’ve said and done in the last 24 hours, her absolute _need_ for another kiss is what sends him spiraling. Usually calm, cool, collected Tim looks just as needy as she feels. 

“Tipsy Lucy is dramatic,” he murmurs, but he leans in all the same, brings their joined hands up above her head so they’re pinned against the wall. He watches her face for a moment, and she knows he’s checking to make sure she feels safe. She nods ever so slightly, and he grins.

“And gorgeous.” He presses his lips to hers, slow and dirty. It’s _perfect,_ and she’s more drunk on it, on _him,_ than she could ever blame on the alcohol. She moans into it, and he pulls back just a fraction. 

“And so responsive. I don’t ever want to stop touching you.” She closes her eyes as he presses her hands harder against the wall. She thinks maybe, _maybe_ with anyone else this would make her nervous, feeling ever so slightly out of control. But he sucks her bottom lip between his, and she feels so good she knows nothing bad could happen in his arms. 

He lets her hands go and his hands trail down her arms. One moves to cup her face, gentle, sweet, even as the kiss stays dirty. The other skims down her body, down her thigh and back up under the fabric of her dress. She gasps against his mouth as his fingers trail her inner thigh, just the briefest, softest tease of a touch. He pulls back, his eyes on her as his fingers trail the same gentle path up her other thigh. 

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he says, and she’s never believed anything more or wanted anything to stop less. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and widens her stance just slightly. 

_“God,_ Lucy.” His fingers skim up her thigh, pulling at the fabric of her panties at her hip. He snaps the fabric lightly against her skin and she moans, louder than even an out of the way hallway allows. 

He grins, his eyes bright. “You going to be able to stay quiet enough?” 

She nods. Anything to keep him headed down his current path. His hand shifts over and his fingers drift down to press the wet fabric against her. The immediate attention surprises her, tension sparking through her body, and there’s not enough warning to stop the noise that escapes her. 

He laughs, the sound husky and almost overwhelming, and she laughs too, for lack of much other coherent thought. He quiets and just smiles at her, and it’s _definitely_ overwhelming. 

“Hey,” he says, and his fingers are still pressing against her, in this dark hallway, in this loud bar filled with their friends, and it all feels like the best secret, just the two of them. 

“Hi,” she whispers, finally bringing her arms down from where he’d left them against the wall. She runs her fingers down his cheek, pulling him in. 

He glances down the hallway quickly as voices carry closer, and she sighs. She kisses his cheek and presses her face against him, breathing in. 

“Tim.” He glances back at her and she can already feel his hand retreating from under her dress. “I don’t ever want you to move your hand, but I’m just going to want more and more and then we’ll have to _live_ in this hallway, and eventually someone will see us.” 

“I know,” he says, and his hand settles on her waist instead. “I guess the sooner we get out there the sooner we can leave and the sooner I can get you back in my bed.”

“Be realistic,” she urges. “Your bed is _so_ far from the front door. I might not let you get that far.”

He laughs, shaking his head. It’s _gorgeous,_ like everything else about him. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Thanks for letting me lure you back here,” she says, toying with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers scratch over his skin and she watches him close his eyes at the sensation, and it’s a cycle, it could never end if she pushed hard enough. 

“Yeah, it was a real chore.”

“Smart ass,” she mutters, reaching up to nip him on the earlobe quickly, just because she can. 

_“Lucy.”_ It sounds like a warning. 

_“Fine,”_ she says, but she does it again to the other ear, because _she can,_ and she wants to, and if the way he presses her body back against the wall is any indication, he wants her to, too. 

She commits to memory the fact that he lets her do it, that he grips her hip while she pulls his lobe between her teeth. His hand on her chin is the only thing that pulls her back, and his lips are on hers again before she can even process it. 

She exhales as he draws back all too soon a moment later, her breath shaky. 

“Told you secrets were hot,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple. His voice is rough, his lips spit-slick against her skin. “Think that’ll hold you over for an hour or so?”

_“Tease,”_ is all she can manage to eek out. She’s pretty sure he’s set her on fire from the inside out, his hands the flame, his lips the accelerant. 

“Mmm, you’ll be okay,” he soothes her, his voice laced with a brutally sexy laugh again. 

“Debatable.” She has to argue with him, it’s impossible not to, especially with the way his eyes dance with laughter in the dark. 

He leans in again, and she thinks she’s won for a brilliant moment, thinks he’ll take her home, get her in his bed or his living room or anywhere but this hallway and give her what she wants, even though she wants so much she could never narrow it down. But his voice is quiet, sweet in her ear instead. 

“This is your night, Lucy. You earned this. I could spend all night back here with you, but I want to watch you laugh with your friends, because you deserve to let loose and have fun. I know firsthand how hard you worked for this, and I want to celebrate you, now. And _later,_ I’m gonna take you home and celebrate with you again _and again,_ just the two of us, whatever you want.” 

She shivers, his breath cool against her ear and his words both painfully proud and tantalizingly teasing. His hand is in her hair again, and she leans into it, still not ready for him to walk away. “Whatever I want,” she echos, and he nods. She reaches up and runs a thumb across his bottom lip, where her supposedly long-lasting lip gloss didn’t stand up to their need. “Feels like one final Tim test,” she laughs, and he rolls his eyes, pulling at her waves like they’re little kids and he’s pulling a pigtail. 

“Could be. No wrong answers here, though.”

“Mhmm, good to know,” she whispers, and she’s going to lean back in, trick him into one, two, ten more kisses, but the click of heels on the floor stops her, and by the time she checks to make sure it’s not anyone they know, Tim’s back against the opposite wall. She misses his body looming over hers already. 

A woman disappears into the bathroom around the corner and she turns back to Tim. His hands are in his pockets and he’s so casually leaning against the wall that no one would ever know he’d been driving her to distraction with his lips just moments ago. 

“What are my chances of convincing you I need _one more_ kiss?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and his spicy body wash fills her senses as he takes a couple steps toward her again. “Lucy, you don’t _need_ _one_ more kiss. You _deserve_ a million, and I’m going to give them to you, I promise.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, chaste, _perfect,_ just enough to get her through until the next one. 

“See you back at the table,” he whispers, and she’s just love-drunk enough to let him get away. She watches him walk back down the same path he’d taken toward her and sighs. 

—————

She’s in the bathroom, washing her hands and trying to tame her Tim-tousled hair in the mirror when Harper walks in. 

“Hey,” Harper says, coming to stand by her, her reflection tough and pretty as ever next to Lucy. “Thought you disappeared for a minute there.”

She laughs. “Got tired of waiting in line for the bar, just needed some air,” she lies, especially because she got anything but a breather. 

Harper eyes her. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

She does. Her cheeks are still pink from Tim’s lips and hands and words. They might just be permanently that color now. “Yeah, you know how you never realize how much you’ve had to drink until you’re in a bar bathroom? Jackson and I should have eaten our weight in bread for lunch. instead of sushi, that’s all. I’m good.”

“Been there,” Harper laughs, and it’s quiet again for a moment. “Tim seems to be in a good mood,” she observes, and Lucy tries to school her expression in the mirror before Harper looks up at her. 

“Probably just happy to be rid of me and all my questions,” she says, smiling. 

_“Is he, though?”_ Harper more than gives Angela a run for her money, and Lucy’s pretty sure she doesn’t want either of them to ever interrogate her for real, if she can’t even survive a minute of questioning from Jackson. She’d admit to things she’d never even heard of if Harper questioned her long enough. 

She shrugs, hoping it’s convincing. “I don’t know, he’s a mystery. I _did_ ask a lot of questions, though.” The thing is, she and Tim have been pretty well in each other’s orbit tonight, rarely more than a few feet apart. She knew he was radiating a good mood around her, could feel it in every inch of her body. But if his friends were picking up on it too, well. The feeling that gives her is hard to identify, but it looks a lot like a smile spreading across her face that she can’t quite stop. 

“Okay.” It’s all Harper says, and Lucy watches her turn for the door. 

“Hey; Not-Nolan.” Lucy turns toward her, trying not to laugh. “Do you remember when you asked if you could come to me for advice every once in a while?”

She nods. 

“Well, you still can.” 

“Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

Harper smiles, and it feels almost as validating as earning a smile from Tim, in those early days. 

“Congratulations, Officer Chen. You fought hard this year.”

She nods. “I did.” It feels good, knowing it’s true, knowing people, _her friends,_ realize it too — and that they know she fought _all_ year, and not just the 24 hours she fought for her life. 

Harper nods, watching her for a moment. She opens the door, and Lucy thinks she’s going to leave, but she pauses. “Chen,” Lucy glances up at her in the mirror, and Harper gestures to her lips, a knowing smirk on her face. “You’re a little smudged.”

She’s out the door before Lucy can respond. 

—————————— 

Tim wipes Lucy’s lipgloss off his lips and his cheek and his neck in the bathroom and then stands at the bar for a water for himself and a new horrifyingly pink drink for her before making his way over to the large table in the back corner. He sets the drinks down at two empty spots at the end of the table and immediately feels eyes on him. 

Angela is watching him from down the table, playing with the straw in her near-empty drink. 

“What?” He asks. “Want me to get you a refill before I sit down? One time only offer.”

She laughs. “Nah, _I’ve_ got a man for that, but thanks.” She watches him for a moment more, and then slides her body around, over the empty chairs between them and scoots into the chair next to him, her body scooting the chair slightly. 

“You good there?” He asks, steadying the chair as she situates herself. 

“Are _you_ good?” Her words aren’t slurred, but he’s drank with Angela enough to know she’s not feeling any pain now. She glances up to his right quickly. “Aww, TO bonding time!”

“Yeah, Tim, are you good?” He turns to the sound of Harper’s voice, watches her slide into the chair on his other side. “That’s an awfully pink drink you’ve got there.”

He nods. “I’m good.” He feels a little ganged up on, and his only escape routes have been blocked, which always puts his hackles up. But he’s _good,_ almost shockingly so. 

Harper taps the cocktail glass with her nails, the sound clinking like it’s trying to emphasize a point. “This drink, though, Tim.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know it’s for Chen.” The name feels unfamiliar on his tongue, and maybe it sounds that way too, because Harper and Angela glance at each other quickly. 

“Oh, extending that first round tradition a little?” Harper asks, and he flashes back to her knowing looks all those months ago in the diner at 2AM, when nothing had even happened with Lucy yet, but he’d already known it would, if he had any say. Harper might be _too_ observant, and it might be his downfall. 

“Yeah, I mean, I haven’t even bought Jackson a drink yet, and this is what, three, four, for Lucy?”

Wesley leans over the empty chairs between them and smiles. “That’s because _I_ bought his drinks, but carry on.”

Angela waves him off, rolling her eyes. She turns to Harper, and Tim is happy to have the attention off him for a moment. “Look, Nyla, don’t ever marry a lawyer. He’s cute, but like. _Is it worth it?”_

“Do you even _want_ to marry me?” Wesley asks, but he’s laughing, like it’s a long-running joke. 

Tim glances at Wesley, exchanging all too familiar looks. Thank god Angela found someone who gives as good as he gets, who deserves her. He hasn’t spent much time with Wesley, because being a third wheel is never going to be his idea of a good time, but… maybe that can change. 

“I’m just saying,” Angela continues. “That’s not your usual M.O. It’s usually a fight to get you to come to these things.”

“Well,” he says, running his fingers down the condensation on his water glass, “kinda feels like she deserves it.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and he doesn’t look up, but he’d guess Angela and Harper are exchanging glances. 

“Wild year,” Angela sighs, and he nods. “My Boot almost washed out, Harper’s is old as fuck, yours—“

“Almost died?” He fills in, and maybe she’s about to respond, but Lucy’s bright, bubbly voice distracts them. 

“Tim, if you wanted to try my drink, all you had to do was ask. I’d have shared,” she says, and he’d roll his eyes, but he can still taste the tart raspberry bite of her lips, so he just smiles instead. 

He presses the glass toward her, the cold glass leaving a trail of droplets on the table. “It’s a celebration, right?” It’s pointed, it’s supposed to make her blush, and it does, her cheeks taking on a sweet pink hue. 

Angela clears her throat. “Here, sit,” she gestures at the chair she’s in, “My man needs me anyway. Wes, don’t you _need_ me?” she calls, sliding back across the seats to Wesley’s side. 

Tim watches Wesley wrap his arm around Angela, casual and easy, nothing hidden about it, and feels something like jealousy settling inside him. Not toward her, or him, but at the simple exchange of affection. 

When he turns back, Harper’s gone and Lucy’s stepping over him to sit in Angela’s old seat. He holds out a hand to steady her as she moves around him, and she smiles as she settles in. 

“Couldn’t have just sat there?” He asks, gesturing to the seat Harper had just vacated, totally free of any Tim-shaped obstructions. 

“I wanted to sit _here,”_ she says. She crosses her legs, the hem of her dress inching up higher, and Tim’s pretty sure she was put on this planet just to send him spinning, just to shake him up at every turn. 

As if to prove that point, she leans back over him, pulling her drink off the table. The condensation drips off the glass and onto her bare thighs and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be looking at that or her lips on the rim of the glass or maybe the wisest choice, anything but either of those. He somehow does all three, his gaze drifting over her and around the table in quick order. 

“Thanks for my drink,” she says, and his eyes are drawn back to her just like they always have been, like despite all his effort to pretend she’s not, she’s been the brightest thing in his orbit since day one. 

“‘Course.” It’s dark in the bar already, and this particular corner they’re squished into is darker still. He thinks he could reach over and touch her, run his fingers through the water droplets on her smooth thighs without anyone even noticing. 

She smiles, and he wonders if she’s thinking the same thing. 

“Hey, guys,” Nolan says, appearing across the table, “Harper’s up at the bar and is going to order us some appetizers for the table. Any requests?”

Beside him, Lucy starts to open her mouth, but Nolan shakes his head. “C’mon, Luce. Jackson and I know your drunk foods already. Carbs are coming.”

“Fueling up for some kind of marathon?” He asks as Nolan walks away, but she just smirks as she reaches for her drink again. 

—————

Food brings the whole group back to the table, bringing in extra chairs and pushing Tim and Lucy back further into the dark corner. On his other side, Henry and Abigail are in their own little world, laughing about something on her phone, and next to him, Lucy is scrolling through her phone too. 

“Tim,” she says, and he glances over to see her holding up her phone, the camera facing them. “One last end of training gift? That pic of you holding your plaque just isn’t gonna do it anymore.”

He rolls his eyes but leans in anyway, winding his arm around the back of her chair to lean in. The flash is bright in the dark room, and all he sees are stars that barely dissipate when he looks at her. 

“Happy?” He whispers, wishing his voice was remotely capable of any shred of annoyance where she was concerned now. 

“Extremely.” She smiles at him and he reluctantly shifts back over in his seat, but lets his arm stay across the back of her chair. Just like so many months ago in the diner, her hair brushes his arm and it feels relatively overwhelming. 

They eat and chat and laugh, and it’s nice, being out with a big crowd and finally feeling like he has someone next to him, someone to go home with at the end of the night, even if it’s new and no one is supposed to know. He watches Lucy laugh, her body shifting more into his space as she leans over to gesture at Jackson, some story about the last time they drank too much together and made regrettable Amazon purchases. 

“No more buying random gifts at 2AM,” Jackson says, and Lucy laughs. 

“Wait, is that how I ended up with the really unnecessary — but _totally_ great, thanks — ceramic duck planter as a housewarming gift?” Nolan asks, and Lucy and Jackson exchange looks before cracking up. 

“Wait, wait, speaking of gifts,” Angela cuts in, “Lucy, did Tim give you his typical TO graduation gift? He never mentioned it.”

Lucy turns to him, laughter still sparking across her features. “I _don’t know._ Tim, did I get your typical TO graduation gift?” In the dark, under the table, her hand falls on his knee, her nails scraping across his jeans. He has to swallow before he can answer. 

He nods, and tries to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t think it works. “A knife, yeah.”

“It’s got these really intricate carvings, almost like--” Jackson says, and Tim glances at Lucy. Her hand stills on his knee and she gives the tiniest shrug, like _what are you gonna do?_

“Almost like it’s _handcarved?”_ Angela asks, and Tim can feel her eyes on him before he even glances her way. Harper is watching him too, and he just raises his eyebrows slightly and takes a sip of water. Angela glances between him and Lucy and a small smile spreads across her face. She turns and tries to hide it in Wesley’s shoulder, but it’s too late. Tim knows her too well, and it goes both ways. She’d never say anything at a table full of people, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before she corners him and doesn’t relent. 

He runs his fingers over Lucy’s hand on his knee, turns her palm up and laces their fingers together. 

“There’s some _weird_ energy at this table right now,” Abigail throws out, and Tim’s never been more grateful for the weird kid. 

“Hang on, I’m sorry,” Nolan cuts in. “Tim got Lucy a gift for graduating training?” He turns to Harper. “Were you supposed to get _me_ a gift?” 

“Yeah, man, don’t feel bad, Lopez didn’t get me anything either. _Wesley_ did the decent thing and bought me _several_ delicious drinks, though, so I’m only a little mad,” Jackson says. 

Lucy squeezes his hand once and lets go. She takes the last sip of her drink, the glass wet under her fingers, and he almost gasps when her hand falls back on his leg, just slightly higher up on his thigh than before. She leans forward to better hear the conversation, her fingers dragging slowly back and forth on his thigh. He swallows and watches Lopez roll her eyes at Jackson. 

“Your gift was _passing_ training, West, please,” she says, but it’s laced with genuine affection.

“And Nolan, yours is me acknowledging your existence in public, or you know, _anywhere,_ really,” Harper says, and it’s _not_ laced with any affection that Tim can make out, but he knows it’s there. He’s never regarded Nolan as much more than a semi-annoying, super-old puppy, but he’s kind of hard not to like, and he knows from watching her with Lucy that Harper cares a lot more than she might freely admit. 

“Ooh, _yeah_ , that’s good,” Angela says. ‘That too, Jackson.” 

The group laughs, and he watches Lucy join in, her laugh always loud and happy, even as her hand slides just a fraction higher up his thigh. He should stop her, he knows. It’s a dangerous game, but she glances back over her shoulder at him, her eyes bright and happy, her smile a little mischievous, and he’ll let her do anything that keeps that look on her face. Even if it’s already a little torturous. 

He hasn’t had nearly enough to drink to feel as spacey as her hand on his thigh makes him, and he tries to pay attention to the conversation, but mostly he just watches the way Lucy tucks her hair behind her ear as she chats across the table with Nolan, and tries to focus on keeping his expression neutral as her hand slides officially indecently high on his thigh. Everytime she moves, toned muscles in her back flex, and he makes a mental note to pay particular attention to them later. Her dress has done nothing if not give him new appreciation for how hard she worked this year, how many hours she spent in the gym, all those pushups she endured at his command. 

“Tim.” By the tone of Angela’s voice, it’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention. Lucy’s fingers squeeze his thigh and he coughs to clear his throat, to bring himself back into focus. 

“Yeah, sorry?” He asks, and he knows his voice sounds rough, and Angela smirks at him.

“You okay over there, pal?” She exchanges glances with Harper again, and if Lucy’s hand on his thigh doesn’t do him in, Angela and Harper conspiring against him might just do it. 

“Just a little tired,” he says, and immediately regrets it. Lucy’s hand moves again, and her pinky is brushing against his cock with every slide. She glances back over her shoulder at him, mischievous grin still in place. 

“Are we _boring_ you, Tim?” she asks, and all he can think about is kissing the grin off her lips as Angela boos him across the table for being “so old.” 

_“Hush,”_ he mutters, rolling his eyes. “What were you saying?”

Harper cuts in. “How would you describe Lucy when you first started training her? Three words or less. _Apparently_ you missed it, but Lopez said Jackson was a “know-it-all” and I very generously called Nolan a kiss-ass.”

“What is this, evaluations?” Jackson asks, and Lopez rolls her eyes.

“Please, you _all_ know you’re little praise junkies, you eat this stuff up,” she says. 

_“Is that_ praise though? I don’t think being called a know-it-all--” Jackson sputters to a stop as Angela holds a hand up, and Sterling wraps an arm around him in consolation. 

“Shh, Boot. Tim?” 

_Challenging. Life-changing. Gorgeous._ Her pinky brushes over him again, and he can feel her eyes on him, always curious, always questioning. 

“Aggravating,” he says, and Lucy’s disgruntled little noise is worth it. She knows it’s a compliment, but that might be lost on the rest of the table. 

“Ooh, okay,” Lopez says. “And how would you describe your Boot now? I’m going to regret this, I already know, but I’d describe my know-it-all Boot as a friend now.” Lucy’s running her fingers against his zipper under the table, and he can just barely focus on Jackson standing abruptly. 

“Babe, move,” he tells Sterling, stepping over his legs. “Wesley, you might need to move too, I’m coming to hug your lady, and if I end up subdued against the table, I’m just telling you all it was worth it. Come here, friend!” he says, all in a rush as he works his way around the table, and to her credit, Angela looks all too happy, laughing as she lets Jackson wrap her in a hug, neither of them entirely steady on their feet. 

“That’s sweet,” Nolan says, and Tim rolls his eyes as he turns to Harper eagerly. “Detective?”

“Oh, Nolan,” she sighs, and it earns a laugh around the table. Lucy’s hand presses down over his zipper, and he just barely holds back a groan. He covers her hand with his and she glances over at him, and he knows she can feel how he’s reacting to her. She bites her lip, and he _wants_ to press her hand firmer against him, wants to let her do exactly whatever she wants, but instead he slides both their hands back down his thigh to his knee, an altogether safer place. She sticks her bottom lip out, a tiny pout, and he’s going to have to spend an hour just kissing her later, there’s no way around it. 

Tim zones back in just soon enough to hear Harper call Nolan “wise,” and he laughs at the immediate groan that elicits from Nolan. 

“Aww, Dad, it’s a joke about how old you are,” Henry jokes, and everyone laughs.

“Yeah, son, I got that, thanks,” Nolan says, smiling. 

“What I mean is,” Harper continues, “he gives great advice, which I guess _is_ typically a characteristic of those of advancing age.” 

“Ouch,” Nolan jokes, but Harper just smirks at him. 

“Tim?” It’s Lucy who asks, quiet and sweet, but he can feel the group’s eyes on him. Under the table, in the dark, their own little secret, she turns her palm upright and laces their fingers together, brushing her thumb over his hand. “How would you describe me now?” 

_Challenging. Life-changing. Gorgeous. Adored._ A million other words he doesn’t think either of them are quite ready to share with the world at large. A million he wants to whisper against every inch of her skin, for as long as she’ll let him.

“Strong,” is what he settles on, and the little surprised noise she can’t hide, the way her hand grips his almost too tight, the way the table goes silent but he barely notices, it’s all worth it. 

“You know, I think that’s a nice note to end the night on,” Angela says, from where she’s still standing with Jackson. “Plus, if I sit back down, I’m not getting back up, so.”

Around them, the group stands, and Tim feels Angela’s eyes on him. He gives Lucy’s hand one more squeeze and lets go, leaning in quickly as he stands. “Meet me outside in a few?”

She nods, moving to gather her stuff. 

Angela nods at him, gesturing off to the side, and he knows when he’s being beckoned. He steps over empty chairs to her side and she smiles, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asks, but he’s afraid he already knows. 

“Nothin’. It’s just been _quite_ a year, Tim.”

“Mhmm.” 

“Look, we’re gonna go, but—“ she’s always more tactile when she’s tipsy, but he’s still surprised when she reaches out to hug him. “We don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t ready,” she whispers, pulling back. “Just know, it’s written all over your stupidly handsome face.” She pats his cheek twice, none too gentle, and smirks up at him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Okay, pal.” She just smiles, like Tim’s the most ridiculous person she’s ever met. She lets Wesley shake his hand and then presses him forward, tossing goodbyes over her shoulder, leaving Tim just standing there. 

He watches Lucy hug Nolan, Henry, and Abigail goodbye as he heads to the bar to settle his tab. Her fingers brush his back lightly as she walks by, on her way out the door with Jackson and Sterling. 

“Officer Bradford.” He steels himself, because Harper’s the one he doesn’t know well enough. He knows Angela would never do anything to jeopardize him, and he’s pretty sure he can say the same thing about Harper, because she’s at least had suspicions for months, even if nothing had actually happened. 

“Detective Harper?”

“I’m on my way out, and she lives in the opposite direction, but unless you can give me a good reason she doesn’t need one, I’m going to go offer Chen a ride home.”

He takes his card back from the bartender and takes longer than necessary to put it back in his money clip. When he finally looks up, she’s still just standing there, stoic as ever, watching him. 

“It’s not my place to give you a reason, good or not. But if she tells you no… I’m not leaving until she does.” 

She smirks, just a flash, a second of disbelief. “Yeah, that's basically what I thought. Have a nice weekend, Tim.” 

“Yeah, you too.” He signs his receipt and watches her walk out the door. 

——————————

“Lucy, are you sure you don’t want a ride?” Sterling asks, and that’s how she knows for sure that Jackson hasn’t said anything to him. 

“I’m good, thanks, really,” she says, smiling as he slides in the Uber. She turns to Jackson, who looks ridiculously proud of himself.

“Thanks, Jackson,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, like she should have ever expected anything different. 

He pulls her into a hug and she smiles into his shoulder. “Love you, best friend,” he says, and she knows it’s only partly the alcohol talking. “Have a great night. Go capitalize on that dress.” 

“That’s the plan,” she laughs. “I love you too, Jackson. I’ll see you later.”

He waves, getting into the backseat with Sterling. She smiles, watching them pull away. Before she can turn to look for Tim, Harper’s voice startles her.

“Chen, didn’t you come here with them?” 

“Uh, yeah. But we came from our apartment, and they’re going to stay at Sterling’s tonight, because, hello, _actual_ mansion, so. You know. Heading home solo,” she says, praying that Tim doesn’t walk out in the next minute. 

“Oh, okay. Well, there’s no point in paying for an Uber. I can take you home.” It feels like a challenge, like a perfectly natural followup to Harper calling her out on her smudged lip gloss earlier. 

“Oh, you know, I’m good, but thanks. It’s already on the way,” she says, holding up her phone. “I don’t want to disappoint, my rating is _excellent,_ I’m a great tipper.” She’s rambling, and it’s wild, but in uniform, on-duty, Harper doesn’t intimidate her… but she could be close to panicking now, if she left herself. And Harper must see that, because she just nods slowly. 

“Alright, Chen. Well, don’t be afraid to rough up the _Uber_ _driver_ if he tries anything.” She winks. “I’ve got your back.” 

“Thanks,” Lucy smiles. “I know you do. Have a good weekend.” 

“Yeah, you too, Chen.” She turns to head to her car, but pauses, and Lucy holds her breath. “Oh, by the way. Tim is still in there. Probably want to say good night, huh? Better hurry, though, might need time to fix your make up after.” 

Lucy just opens her mouth, agape. Harper tosses a wave over her shoulder, and Lucy’s pretty sure she’s laughing as she walks away. 

She leans back against the building to wait for Tim, and she’s just about to head inside to look for him a couple minutes later when a familiar pickup pulls up in front of her. 

She smiles, and he rolls down the passenger side window. “Hey,” he calls, “didn’t you lure me into a dark hallway earlier?” 

She stands, walks slowly toward the truck. “Mmm, might’ve been me. You should come out here, I can’t quite tell if that was you.” 

“Could just get in the truck,” he says, but he’s already turning off the ignition and opening the door. 

“Nah,” she says, watching him cross in front of the truck. “My old TO? He’d be really disappointed if I got in a car with the wrong guy.” 

His smirk is off the charts when he stops in front of her. “He sounds like a smart, good looking guy. Do you lure a lot of men back into dark hallways?” 

“He’s okay, if you’re into the hardass with a heart of gold type, I guess. And I only lure the ones who buy me girly drinks.”

“Oh, that was definitely me then. I’ve got the receipt to prove it,” he says, and he’s already leaning down to meet her. She presses her lips against his and her hands against his chest, using all her might to walk him backwards until he’s pinned between her body and his truck. 

She kisses him likes it’s been weeks, months of waiting, instead of just an hour or so, and really, 

she has no idea how she waited so long. His lips slide over, against hers like they’ve had years of practice, like a well rehearsed conversation. 

She winds her arms around his neck and arches under his hand as his fingers run a teasing trail up and down her back, her skin cool in the night air. He’s smiling as she pulls back, and she knows her smile must look _almost_ as heart-stoppingly good as his does. 

“So,” she whispers, her lips ghosting over his, “is it me? Am I the one who lured you into that dark hallway?” 

“I can’t quite tell. I probably need some more convincing,” he says, sliding his palm up her back, like he can tell she’s chilly even with the warmth of his body and the heat of his kiss. He’s leaning back in, and she doesn’t ever want to stop kissing him, but.

“Tim?” She runs her fingers up, over the back of his neck slowly, and relishes in the way he has to close his eyes for a second before raising his eyebrows at her in question. “Take me home. Let me convince you.” 

—————

It takes all of her willpower and all of her desire to never be in another car accident with him, to keep her hands to herself during the short ride to his house. He keeps his hand on her knee, and she thinks about sliding it higher, hiking up her dress and pressing his fingers where she wants every part of his body. But he kisses her, quick and dirty, at a stoplight, and she knows he was right -- ten more minutes in his truck would never, ever be enough. She just laces their fingers together and watches him drive, as natural to her as everything else she’s spent the last 13 months doing. 

His jaw is set, and they actually haven’t spoken since she stepped foot in the car, and that’s the only unnatural thing about it, being quiet in a car with him. Her mind races, watching him check his blindspots and his rearview, watching the intricate movements of his wrist as he signals to turn left into his neighborhood, the smooth motions of his hand on the wheel. He pulls to a stop in his driveway, cuts the engine, and turns to her. 

“You’re quiet. Okay?”

She squeezes his hand and smiles. “Better than. But I’ve been thinking.”

He turns to open his door, but her hand on his knee pulls his focus back to her. “Haven’t we already had one ‘Lucy’s thoughts’ conversation today? It was kind of an important one,” he jokes, and she lets go of his hand to put both of her hands on his knee. “Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me of something?” He asks, that flirty edge always almost too much. 

“I’m trying to,” she says, and he watches her intently. “All night, people told me I _deserved_ this, I deserved to have fun and let loose and celebrate everything I went through this last year. You, Jackson, Wesley, Abigail. Harper told me I fought hard. And I _did.”_

He nods, and she leans into it when he cups her cheek. He doesn’t need to say it again, she knows.

“And I believe them, I believe you -- I know how hard I worked. And how hard I fought. But you know what I know that Wesley, and Jackson, and Abigail, and Harper don’t? 

He shakes his head, and she’s a little afraid she might be scaring him. She runs her hands just slightly up his thigh to let him know it’s nothing bad. It’s all good, in fact.

“I know how hard _you_ worked, Tim. And how hard you fought,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt to lean closer to him, to press her lips against his quickly. “And not just for me, even though I know I was not always the easiest person to train -- kind of your fault, you’re just _so fun_ to argue with.” She slides her hand all the way up his thigh, so there’s no mistaking her intentions, presses her palm against his zipper again and her lips against his neck for just a moment. 

He closes his eyes and she grins at the small, almost inaudible groan he lets out.

“But you worked hard for yourself, and fought hard for me, and your promotion, and you went through so much this last year, too. Everything with Isabel, Rachel, Mitch. You got _shot,_ Tim, you barricaded yourself in a room with an unknown airborne contagion.” 

“Lucy--”

“No.” She bites at his earlobe, maneuvers so she can pop the button on his fly quickly, before he can protest. “You deserved tonight too, Tim. You can tell me until you’re blue in the face that none of that, your whole year, was a big deal, but even if it’s not a big deal to you, it’s a big deal to me.” She eases down his zipper and reaches in to free his cock. 

_“Jesus,”_ he whispers, and she smiles at him.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” she says, but the way he’s already arching up into her hand, slowly hardening under her fingers, tells her that’s not what he wants.

“You deserve to be celebrated tonight, Tim. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you pushing me and testing me. I wonder sometimes if I even would have come back that second day, if you hadn’t managed to push every single one of my buttons that first day, just to see if I had what it took. You proved to me that I did.”

His eyes are closed, but she knows he’s listening. She presses her lips to his ear and circles her thumb around the tip of his cock. “I don’t know if I’d even be _here,_ at all, without you finding me.”

His eyes open immediately, and his fingers are strong on her cheek to guide her lips to his. “You’re here, though,” he whispers. His voice is rough, shaky, almost, and she slicks pre-cum down his shaft on the next stroke. “You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”

She smiles into his kiss, with how perfectly right it all is. It’s not _ideal,_ she’s not a teenager anymore, and her back hurts from the angle, and her knee is squished against the console, but _he’s_ right and his words are so right they’ve almost left her breathless -- not just now, but all day. She kisses him, her hand stroking over his cock faster and faster, until he’s almost gasping into her mouth, and then she pulls back.

Her name is on his lips as she kisses down his neck, over the open buttons of his henley, her mouth hop-skipping over the fabric of his shirt until she’s low enough to take him in her mouth. His hand fists in her hair almost immediately, just like she knew it would, and she moves her mouth over him, listening to the way his breath hitches as her tongue drags along his length. 

His hips are moving against her, and she lets him move how he needs to, fists his shaft and lets him arch up into her mouth. She thinks about how he let her move against his mouth in the shower that morning, how he barely pressed his mouth against her until she’d showed him exactly where she wanted him, and she tries to give as good as she got, just like with so many other aspects of their relationship. 

He curses and tenses against her, and she can feel his desperation, the way his hand tightens in her hair, the way his free hand digs into his own thigh. 

She covers his hand with hers, and he chokes out a moan, and she knows he’s _right_ there. She moves her fist up to meet her mouth, once, twice, and her name on his lips, loud and needy in the dark cab of his truck, is her warning before he comes, spilling into her mouth. She drags her lips over him until he chuckles, an overwhelmed, blissed out noise, and she pulls back, swallowing and wiping at her mouth. 

She watches him come down, his eyes closed, his hand gentle in her hair. “Thank you,” he says, and she wants to live in the sound of the gravel in his voice, sexy and low, the totally relaxed look on his face. He leans forward, eyes still heavy lidded, moving slightly until he can press a kiss against her shoulder. 

“Mmm, thank _you,”_ she replies, and he opens his eyes to look at her, a question. 

“The whole… last 13 months? I just said some really nice things to you, you better remember them. I know I’m good, but _no one_ is amnesia-level blowjob good.”

He laughs, guiding her lips to his. “You just might be, Lucy. But I still remember every word, don’t worry.” He kisses her slowly, like they’re not in his truck, in his driveway, an indecent exposure violation waiting to happen, even if it was worth it to watch, feel, listen to, _taste_ him fall apart. He’s smiling when he pulls back. 

“You know, that hasn’t happened -- in a car, at least -- in like 20 years? Right before I left for boot camp. Jennifer-- something--”

“No, shh, I don’t need to know her last name. I won’t be held responsible for Facebook stalking her.”

He laughs, shifting to tuck hismelf back into his pants, zipping himself up. He just watches her when he’s done, one of those moments where she’d really give anything to be able to read his thoughts.

“I’d try to promise it won’t be another 20 years, because sneaking around is fun, and car sex is fun especially when you don’t _have_ to fit everything into the half hour before curfew, but you know, I’m not 18 anymore. I feel super ancient, but my back and my neck are a little mad at me.”

“Have a lot of car sex at 18, did you?” 

She rolls her eyes. “That _is_ what you’d latch onto, isn’t it?... And yeah, kinda. Want details?” She’s joking, but his eyes flare and she laughs, dragging her nails across his knee.

“Maybe later, but only if you pretend all the guys were me,” he jokes. “C’mon. Let’s get your ancient back and neck somewhere a little more comfortable.” 

She grabs her purse and meets him in front of the truck. His fingers rake up and down her back as they walk slowly to the front door. “Gonna kiss me goodnight?” He asks, and she gives him a questioning look.

“You walk someone to their door after a night out, you kiss them goodnight. That’s the law.”

“Oh, _the law?_ See, I think I just spent 13 months with you code quizzing me every shift? I don’t remember that particular law.”

“I mean, if I _have to_ dig out my book of penal codes, I will, but I’m pretty sure you should just trust me on this one.”

She smiles and reaches up to press a kiss to his cheek. “There.”

“That's not exactly what I had in mind,” but he smiles, turning his key in the lock. He opens the door and gestures for her to go ahead.

“Night’s not over yet, Tim,” she says, turning and walking backwards into his living room. “Maybe I’ll kiss you goodnight later.”

“Maybe?” His smirk is in full force, and she wonders briefly if there will ever be a time it doesn’t make her weak in the knees.

“Probably.”

\----------

He lets Kojo out to do his business and she settles on his bed, scrolling through her phone. There’s no pretense here, she doesn’t need to play coy and curl up on his couch first or wander around his living room. She _wants_ to do all those things, but she knows she has time. Right now, she’s still on fire from kisses in dark hallways and up against trucks, and she’s not ready to let that feeling go. 

She scrolls through pictures she took tonight — plenty of rookie selfies, Snapchat filters with Abigail, a blurry shot from the stage where she and Jackson sang karaoke. Her and Tim, crowded together in the corner of the room, his arm around her and that lethal, gorgeous smile brightening up the whole frame. She taps a few buttons and sets it as her home screen. 

His footsteps down the hall make her smile. His jacket is off, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up and his forearms distractingly on display. 

“Where’s my boy?” She asks, the telltale sound of Kojo’s nails tapping and collar jangling not following him. 

He smirks, gestures to his chest as if to say _right here,_ and she smiles. He shakes his head. “No, he’s being lazy, you’ll probably hear him snoring soon.”

“Novelty of me being here’s worn off, I guess,” she grins. 

He shakes his head. “Maybe for him, but he’s kinda dim.” He smiles, and it’s stupid how quickly she’s come to feel one thousand percent at ease with him like this. 

“This important, or can it wait?” He asks, wrapping his hand around hers and holding her phone out away from their bodies. 

She turns the phone in her hand so he can see the picture. “Important, but not as good as the real thing,” she assures him, letting him drop the phone to the nightstand and crawl over her body, pressing her back against the mattress. 

He kisses her for minutes, hours, she has no clue, too distracted by the way his stubble grazes her chin, the way his hand brushes her neck, situating her lips where he wants them. 

She moves slightly and her neck twinges, just a tiny shock from contorting her body in a way it’s maybe not meant to go in the truck earlier. He must feel her wince against his lips, because he pulls back. 

“Okay?” He whispers, and she smiles. 

“Just my ancient neck,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, _so_ old,” he laughs. She tries to pull him back in, but he shakes his head. “Roll over.”

It doesn’t feel like a request, and she’s fine with that. Her inclination is always to bite back, but this command feels like it’ll be purely worth it. She shifts, rolls her body so she’s on her stomach. She pillows her head on her arms and shifts slightly so she can smile up at him. 

His weight settling gently over her thighs is a heady, silly feeling. 

“I told you how much I like your dress, right?” His voice is quiet. His warm, strong hands brushing over the fabric of her dress and sliding up her bare skin surprise her, and she thinks her answer comes out more as a moan than anything else. 

“How sexy it is?” His hands move to her neck, his fingers kneading lightly. “There?” He asks, as she groans when his fingers move over tense muscle. 

She nods. He works out a small knot, and she’s just relaxed enough that his lips on her skin come as a total surprise. 

His lips soothe the work his fingers have done, and he presses his teeth against the side of her neck as his thumb works over a particularly tense spot. She doesn’t know if her moan is more in reaction to his teeth or his fingers, but she’s not complaining. 

His thumbs change direction, pressing into her back, his fingers trailing under the fabric of her dress as he works his way down her spine. His lips follow, and her back arches, out of her control, when his lips hit the small of her back. 

_“God,_ Tim.” 

His thumbs massage small circles into her lower back and his lips trail back up her body, his tongue skating over her skin. His lips slide up her neck, his teeth press against her earlobe, and she might just combust, her body maybe the most relaxed and simultaneously on edge it’s ever been. 

“Sit up, Lucy.” She doesn’t want to, if laying still will keep his lips on her body and his long fingers digging into her muscle. But she knows Tim _— calculating, not cruel —_ only has better plans for her 

She shifts and rises onto her knees, turning to face him. She must look as relaxed as she feels, because a small smile spreads across his face. 

“C’mere.” She wraps her arms around his neck and presses her chest against his, opening her mouth under his. His hands on her thighs give her flashbacks to his hand trailing up her dress in the dark. This time it won’t be a tease. 

“Does the dress go over or down?” His lips are on her neck again and honestly, _what dress?_ He sucks at her pulse point and she shivers. “Luce?”

“Over. But it doesn’t have to go anywhere just yet.” She pulls back, and he smiles, sexy and slow. 

“Whatever you want.” 

She wants _everything,_ just like she knew she would. It feels overwhelmingly good, being spoiled for choice like she is. She settles for unbuttoning the rest of his henley buttons and pushing the shirt up, over his chest, over his arms as he raises them. She presses her lips to his chest, and the time she could spend doing exactly this, letting her fingers run over his scars, her lips over his tan skin… it’s not overwhelming to think about at all, she’s happy to realize. 

She drops her fingers to his fly, unbuttoning and unzipping, and he grins. 

She laughs. “God, all men turn back into teenagers when a woman gets her hands on his zipper.” 

“Who’s this ‘all men?’” 

“Do you want me to name names or do you want to take off your pants?”

His grin turns cocky, and it’s maybe her favorite one. He moves to stand by the bed, pushes his pants to the floor and steps out. He stands in his boxer briefs and she just wants to stare. It just _keeps_ _getting_ _better._

“See, now I feel like you’re overdressed,” he says, and even a slight whine is sexy the first time. 

She nods. “I thought you might say that,” she says, moving to the edge of the bed and placing her hands on his chest to steady herself as she steps down and stands in front of him. She reaches under her dress and wiggles out of her panties, stepping out of them and holding them up in front of him. “Better?” She asks, dropping them at his feet. 

He gestures between their bodies, hers still basically fully clothed, his just in boxer briefs. “I mean, there’s a lot more fabric happening here,” he says, running his hand up her side. 

“Seems pretty equal to me.” She brushes her fingers over the front of his boxer briefs. “One garment here,” she says, and then covers his hand on her dress. “And one here.”

“Remember when I said you were aggravating?” His hand in her hair is sweet, and she does remember -- the thrill it sends through her every time is etched in her memory.

“I might remember that,” she smiles, running her nails down his chest. “Tim?”

“Mmm?” 

“Take off my dress.” She raises her arms and waits, watching emotions play out over his face. Excitement. Anticipation. Maybe something that looks a lot like the feeling that sparks through her when he reaches down to touch her, shimmying the fabric of her dress up. She takes the dress from him once it’s off, tosses it across his dresser. 

“The dress is new. I tried it on and I thought, ‘I feel sexy. I feel _strong.’_ And then I thought, _I want Tim to take this dress off me.”_

‘Those are all good thoughts,” he whispers, running a hand down her back. “Anytime you want me to take off any article of your clothing, you just say the word.” His lips slide over her collarbone and his hand trails down to her ass, pulling her against him quickly. 

She gasps against his neck, biting at his skin. The entire night has been a tease, secrets in hallways, hands where they shouldn’t be in public, taking fifty years to undress each other. His fingers dimple her ass and hold her against him, and she scrapes her nails down his sides. He shivers, maybe just this side of ticklish, and she grins. 

“Tim, which one of us is overdressed now?”

His lips are on her neck, so focused she can hardly stand, so she drags her nails back down his sides and presses her fingers into his boxer briefs, pushing them down his long legs. 

His lips nip at her, like recognition as he steps out of the fabric. His hand on her ass relaxes when he seems to realize she isn’t going anywhere, and she takes the opportunity to pull it from behind her, tangle their fingers together, and bring their joined hands down between her legs. 

His lips stutter against her skin as she presses his fingers against her, and she feels his smile spread slow and dirty against her skin before he pulls back and she sees it.

“You always finish what you start, _right,_ Tim? Training me? Touching me in a dark hallway?” 

He nods. His free hand brushes the date inked into her skin and the press of his skin feels so natural there now she wonders how she’d ever heard him talk about it in the gym so many months ago and _not_ immediately known this would happen. His hand skims up her body to her chin, his thumb pulling at her bottom lip. He curls a finger up inside her and she gasps, her confident, calm demeanor immediately ruined. “You want me to stop teasing you, Lucy?”

_“Please.”_

It’s like that really is the magic word, because he immediately turns so he can sit on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap. She gasps as she falls against his chest and he curls another finger up into her and presses his thumb to her clit. 

She could come like this, maybe sooner than she thinks, because just like everything else about him, his fingers are relentless against her, but if that was all she wanted, she would have just dragged his hand back up her skirt in that dark hallway. 

“Tim, _god,_ please. I know you’re a gentleman, and _fuck--”_ his thumb cirlces her clit faster, maybe at the compliment he can predict is coming -- “it’s one of the hottest things about you, but I’m ready, I _need--”_

He pulls his hand back, and even though she asked for it, she’s sad. His cock slides against her then, though, and all’s forgiven. “You need this?” He shifts her body so she can lift up on her knees slightly, and she watches his face as he watches her body take him in. She’s said it before, and she knows she’ll think it a million times where he’s concerned, but it’s probably the hottest thing she’s ever seen, the way he bites his lip and runs his fingers up her back as she moves against him. 

She curls her arms around the back of his head and leans into his body, grinding herself down against him. It should feel scary, how overwhelmed she immediately is, how _good_ it feels. And maybe earlier, she’d attributed that overwhelming pull of desire to the loud, dark bar, the drinks, the way she felt in her dress, _him._ Now, naked in the quiet of his bedroom, the drinks working their way out of her system, it’s just _him. Him_ and the way, maybe against all bets, he lets her run the show when she wants to, the way his hands run over her body with reverence, the way his mouth moves over her skin like he’s whispering words he isn’t quite ready for her to hear. 

The way she reaches up and bites at his earlobe again, pulls it into her mouth and sucks, and how he immediately groans, like he’s just as far gone as she is but didn’t realize it until just this moment. 

She thinks she says his name, maybe, but somehow his hand falls back down between their bodies and his thumb presses against her, and she falls apart faster than she maybe ever has, hours of tension and teasing catching up with her. 

He follows her over moments later, his hand in her hair and his lips on her neck. 

She tries to catch her breath and pushes his body back against the bed so she can slip away from him just slightly, winding her thigh across his hip and running her nails across his shoulder. 

“Ever have something be _so good_ that you think, surely it’s not actually that good and I just built it up, and then it happens again and it’s _actually_ that good?” She asks, pressing her finger into the dimple that forms in his cheek as he smiles. 

_“Everything_ with you is that way for me,” he says, and she has to kiss him, so she does, just a quick press of her lips to the side of his mouth. “Every single aggravating little thing,” he adds, and she smacks his chest. 

He covers her hand on his chest and turns his head to face her. _“God,_ you’re gorgeous.” 

Her stomach swoops and she presses a smile into his shoulder. “To steal a phrase from Abigail--” he groans, and she laughs, “-- just go with it, hush, you’re _stupid_ hot.” 

“Mmm, glad we’re in agreement,” he says, and she laughs again, low against his skin. “C’mere,” he says, sitting up and pulling her with him with the hand on his chest. 

“Standing? Tim, I just had an orgasm that was like, five hours in the making, we don’t just _stand_ for no reason after that.” 

He laughs, his smile bright. “Taking that as a compliment,” he says, pressing his hand to her hip to let her lean into him. “But really, my ancient body just wants to get in bed fully with your supposed-ancient body,” he says, pulling the covers back and climbing in, bringing her along. 

“Comfy ancient bodies,” she mumbles, arranging herself against his chest. His hand cards through her hair and she presses a row of kisses along his collarbone, pressing herself closer to his body to gather her courage.

“I have to tell you something,” she says. 

His hand pauses in her hair for a moment, just briefly, and she takes a deep breath until it starts moving again. 

“So this morning, my whole, _‘I’m not ready for coworkers to find out’_ thing?”

“I’m familiar.”

“Well, it lasted like half an hour.” She bites her lip, waiting for his reaction. 

“You told Jackson?” He doesn’t sound surprised, and she relaxes. She wasn’t nervous, and she’d honestly kind of forgotten the second his lips found hers in that dark hallway, but it feels good to get it off her chest. 

“No -- I know, I’m surprised too -- but he figured it out. I smelled like you and looked happy, or something.”

“So _that’s_ why he’s not intimidated by me any longer,” he says, and she laughs, biting at his shoulder. “I knew it had to be something.”

“Tim, I’m _sure_ people besides Jackson are intimidated by you, I don’t think he needs to be intimidated by you forever.”

“I guess not. It was just nice having a rookie be a little intimidated, god knows _you_ never were.” 

“I mean, maybe once or twice?” She says, brushing her nails against his chest.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” he laughs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

“So, he knows. And he won’t say anything. But Angela is definitely going to be a kickass detective, and she taught him well. He read me super fast.” 

“I’d love to give her the credit, but Lucy… you feel things really strongly, which is aggravating and great and sexy, but it also makes you an easy read.” 

“I am _not,”_ she argues, “I am complex and intriguing… _and I'm an easy read because I just told you those things.”_

“Exactly,” he says, leveraging his body over hers to kiss her, deep and slow. “You’re all those things, all good things, and being an open, easy read isn’t ever going to be a bad thing, if you ask me.” 

He rolls off her and she settles back against his chest. “You’re not wrong about Angela though.”

“Hmm?”

“She can definitely read people,” is all he says, and Tim is the opposite of easy to read, but she’s spent enough hours deciphering his verbal and nonverbal clues to immediately know there’s more to it. 

“People, or _you?”_

“Both,” he says. “She was there when Isabel left, she was the first person I told at work. She’s seen it all.” She presses a kiss to his chest, wraps her limbs around him tighter. “I don’t think Jackson read you so easily because you’re _that_ easy to read. I think he just knows you that well.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So she knows?”

He nods. “I didn’t tell her, but I didn’t have to.”

“Okay,” she says. “There’s _one_ more thing.” 

His fingers trail down her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “If I can guess, do I win a prize?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘prize’, I guess.” 

He raises his eyebrows in her peripheral and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, even for you, you’re cocky. Tell me what you know.” 

“Harper might know.” 

She laughs. “I actually hate that you would have won a prize,” she says. “Harper _definitely_ knows. But she won’t say a word. I _think_ she might have even offered to help beat you up, if needed, maybe?” 

“I’m pretty sure Harper’s the only cop who I might not be able to take down in a fight.”

“Wait, is big, bad, tough Tim Bradford _intimidated_ by Nyla Harper?” 

“Of _course not._ She’s just… you know.” 

“Intimidating,” she fills in. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that she’s given me a _lot_ of fighting tips, then. Wouldn’t want to scare you with my ability to bring you to your knees.” 

“Oh, Lucy,” he sighs, shifting to press his body against hers again, pressing his lips to her chest. “You already have that ability, but it has _nothing_ to do with fighting.” 

She presses her palm to his cheek and smiles when he leans into it and presses a kiss to her wrist. “Come kiss me, please,” she whispers, smiling when he’s already halfway to her lips before she’s even finished her sentence. 

He pulls back several minutes later, and her lips feel as red and kiss-bitten as his look. She smiles as he shifts his body and pillows his head on her stomach, looking up at her. 

“So, Jackson and Angela and Harper… you’re okay with them knowing? Not freaked out?” He asks, and the way his voice drops just slightly when he asks if she’s freaked out… it feels like an admission in itself. 

She runs her nails over his scalp, and he closes his eyes. “No, Tim, I’m not freaked out. This morning… I think I meant I didn’t want random colleagues knowing, yet. I don’t want people who don’t know the situation judging, and I don’t want you to catch flack. Yeah, we work with Jackson and Angela and Harper too, but they’re not just random coworkers. They care and they know us,” she says. 

“Is it weird that Nolan doesn’t know?” He asks, and she smiles. He doesn’t know their history, and she’ll tell him one day, when the new glow has worn off a little and they start delving into things like that. 

“No, I don’t think so. He’ll find out, and I don’t think he’ll bat an eye. He likes his friends being happy. He was distracted with Henry and Abigail here tonight, and he’s had a lot going on, so I don’t think he was as observant as the rest tonight.”

He nods, and she runs her fingers through his hair. It’s late, and the room is dark around them, and she thinks she’ll always want to kiss him in darkened rooms now, like it’s a secret even if it isn’t.

“Hey,” she whispers. He glances up at her, the movement tickling her stomach. “I’m pretty sure you told me earlier that I deserve a million kisses. You’re falling a little behind, pal.”

He smirks, rolling so he can move up her body. “Better start counting,” he says, and she never wants to distract him from kissing her, but. 

“I think I know the answer to this. I just. Have to _know. You’re_ okay that they all know, right?” 

He smiles. “Maybe more than you know,” he says, and one day maybe his sneaky, sweet comments won’t send her reeling, but she can’t imagine that happening anytime soon. 

“Good,” she says. “I don’t want to have to hide happy things from friends, or not kiss you in public or only be able to hold your hand under the table,” she says.

He shifts so his body is hovering over hers again, and she never wants him to be anywhere but there. “So this is a happy thing?” He asks, his voice flirty and low, so warm it shouldn’t, but it causes her to shiver. 

“Maybe,” she teases, running her hands through his hair as he advances toward her. 

_“Maybe?”_ He asks, his lips mere inches from hers. 

“Definitely,” she whispers, and his lips find hers like it’s what they were made to do, like it’s one in a million, like it’s a well known secret.

\----------

She wakes, later, to the brush of lips against her shoulder. She shifts to look behind her and finds Tim watching her. “What’s going on?”

“That was your millionth kiss. You slept through all the rest,” he whispers. 

“Then you better start recounting,” she mumbles, finally opening her eyes enough to look around. The room is still dark, not yet day break, and the warm, gloriously naked body she’d fallen asleep spooned against is now too far from her, and wearing gym shorts. 

“Why are you wearing clothes? Why is it still dark?”

He laughs, quiet, and presses his lips down her arm, snaking a trail to her wrist. His lips suck at her pulse point there and she shivers. She feels like this could be a dream, but then he smirks up at her. 

It’s better than her wildest dreams, and she runs her fingers over his cheek as his lips move against her skin. 

“Kojo woke me to go out, so he’ll be out back for at least ten minutes, and there’s no point in me going back to sleep until he’s back inside,” he says, biting at the pad of her thumb. Half asleep, it might be the sexiest thing he’s done to her. 

He shifts on the mattress, his body moving down hers. “So I thought I’d just hang out. No big deal, some mornings are like that.” He sucks a bite at her hip and she gasps. 

“And then I remembered. There’s a gorgeous woman in my bed, and yeah, she likes to sleep in, but I like to think I can be pretty convincing.”

“Maybe,” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep. His hands grip her thighs and she knows what’s coming before it happens, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less good. 

He pulls her to his mouth, licking into her in one smooth motion, and she’s suddenly glad he woke her up gradually, because waking up to his tongue inside her probably would have sent her through the roof in the most overwhelming way. As it is, it’s enough to make her gasp and snake her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer against her. 

In the dark of the room, before the rest of the world has woken up, it feels like it’s just the two of them against the world, like it had so many times on shift. Like she could ask for anything and he’d be the only one able to give it to her, like she could need someone and it would always, always be him. 

“Tim, _please,”_ she says, and she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, not really. But just like anytime she’s needed him in the last year, no matter the situation, he’s there. 

She runs a hand over his cheek, to thank him or or pull him closer, she doesn’t really know. She lets her hand stay on his cheek for a moment, the movement strong against her hand, the way it feels like so much work under her hand but feels effortless against her body — it feels exactly like Tim, more complex and detail oriented than you might initially expect. 

“I _know,_ baby,” he whispers, the words vibrating against her, and maybe that’s what does it. Not the term of endearment, but the way his lips stutter against her as it leaves his mouth, like maybe the early morning, the dark room, has him a little vulnerable too. Like all this, the last year and the last two days, is a lot, like the crest of a wave that’s at once an end and a beginning. 

He runs a hand down her thigh, gentle, sweet, and his lips find her clit again. She’s _right_ there. His lips move over her, and his tongue presses against her. She can’t stay quiet, but even though his mouth against her doesn’t make a sound. It feels like _please._ Like a request and a command, and she follows that feeling, that urge to always do the right thing, the same thing he always wants, but on her own terms. 

She pulls him closer against her, rakes her nails through his hair, and moans around his gasp against her, holding him to her. She falls apart like that, and he’s there, watching, his chin on her hip like he’s ready to help piece her back together when she opens her eyes again.

“Good morning,” she whispers. 

His lips press against her hip, her waist, the numbers inked into her skin, on his way back up her body, and he smiles against her lips. 

“Do I need to apologize for waking you up?”

“Not if you do it like that every time. Or if you bring me coffee, or Kojo.”

“Noted,” he says. And just like she’d summoned him, she hears a bark form out back. Tim smiles against her mouth. “I don’t think I’ve complimented your timing enough.”

He stands, but just watches her for a moment. “If I leave this room, you’re going to stay _right here,_ right?”

“Depends. Is that a request or a command?”

He smirks. “I learn from my mistakes,” he laughs. “And, it’s a _plea._ Don’t move.”

She smiles, listening to his footsteps down the hall, the creak of the back door, the jangling collar and clicking nails, his quiet, sweet words. 

“Go get your girl, Kojo,” he says, and she waits until she knows he’s close enough. 

“Hey,” she calls, as he appears in the doorway. “Why don’t _you_ come get _your—“_

“My girl?” He says, and his smile is like the entire sun has risen in the room, and she can’t imagine there was a time she’s known him that it didn’t have that same warm, instantaneous effect on her. 

“Yeah, Tim.” She laughs as he jumps in the bed, and she rolls her body into his and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in. 

“Gladly,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers as the bed dips and Kojo jangles and huffs toward them. 

She moves quickly, so his lips slick across her cheek, and he laughs against her hair. 

“Hey, handsome. Missed you!” She hugs him and smiles as his wet nose presses against her shoulder. 

He circles to settle against their bodies and Tim pulls her attention back to him with a finger crooked under her chin. “You never greet me that way when I come in the room,” he says, and she laughs, throwing a knee over his body to straddle him. 

“Hey handsome. Missed you,” she whispers, her words ghosting over his lips. 

“That’s better,” he says, his cocky, flirty smile sweet against her lips. 

She pulls back and settles against his chest, the rise and fall of it as soothing as watching the rise and fall of Kojo’s next to them. 

“Do you remember when we met at Baldwin Hills, and went for that walk?” She asks, turning her head to watch his lips move. 

“It was only like two weeks ago,” he says, which means yes. 

She pinches him lightly, and he smirks. “The night before, you sent me that thirst trap photo?”

“I don’t think it was a — _fine,_ what’s a thirst trap?”

She laughs, pressing her lips against his chest, muffling the sound. “Did you take that picture hoping I’d stare at it for way too long, that I’d wish I was there?”

He rolls his eyes. “I _guess_ in the loosest sense of the definition, that’s what it was. Why?” His hand skates up and down her back. 

“Well, I did. Stare and wish I was there. _Here,”_ she says, drawing little nothing shapes with her nail against his chest. 

He presses a kiss to her temple, and she smiles. 

“You are now,” he whispers, and it feels full of promise, like a sunrise, or a cresting wave, or kisses in the dark. 

“And just so you can relive it, because I know that’s what you do,” he says, and she laughs as his chest shifts so he can reach his phone. He swipes open the camera and holds the phone out. 

She burrows against his chest and reaches out to pet Kojo. 

—————

When she looks at the photo later, after they’ve all woken up bathed in a bright sunrise, she smiles. 

Tim's lips are in her hair, her face is turned into his chest, Kojo’s sound asleep. It’s perfect, and she could stare all day, if the real thing wasn’t so captivating. 

(She doesn’t make it her home screen or her lock screen. Maybe the right people know, maybe it doesn’t have to be a secret forever. 

But some things are just theirs, like all the best secrets in the dark.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope it was worth the wait. Likely, that's the end of this series. But wilder things have happened.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
